


Steele, Myth and Magic

by Macx



Category: Real Ghostbusters, Remington Steele (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2011-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steele and Laura have a new case, a simple retrieval. Too bad things aren't what they seem. Who knew that mythological creatures are real and Steele is right in the middle of the mess. It's a good thing the Ghostbusters are on the case, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steele, Myth and Magic

**Author's Note:**

> not the classical crossover fic.
> 
> Written and published in 555-BUST #3: Still Busy in 2.1997

It was a great day. No, more than great -- perfect! Remington Steele leaned back in his chair and looked out of the window of his office, enjoying the sunny sky. He should take Laura out for lunch today; and dinner tonight; and have a drink in front of a cozy fireplace and ....

His dreams were interrupted by the sound of a door opening and closing again. He swiveled his chair to face the visitor and his face lit up with a smile. "Laura ..." he started, already forming the words to convince her to come to lunch with him.

"New York," she interrupted him.

"Pardon?"

"He's in New York," the brunette woman said. "I got the name and the address of the place he rented. Mildred is already getting our tickets and you should start packing."

Steele blinked, feeling overrun. "New York?" he repeated.

Laura Holt looked at him with exasperation. "Yes, Mr. Steele, New York. The McCauly case? The book?"

"I do remember," he said slightly piqued. "I talked with Mrs. Hatmore right in this office only a few days ago, but what is he doing in New York?"

"He's hiding," Laura explained patiently. "I thought you could follow his thoughts?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Is that an implication?" Steele asked.

She leaned forward, hands on the desk, facing him. "I would never implicate anything, Mr. Steele."

He leaned forward as well, bringing his face closer to hers. "No, you never would."

She smiled. "Get packed."

"Ow, Laura, you hurt my sensitive soul."

"I'll hurt more than just your soul if you don't pack your things and be ready in the next hour, Mr. Steele. I have already informed Fred that he can drive us to the airport," she replied.

He leaned back with a sigh. There went the nice lunch and the cozy afternoon. Laura straightened with a satisfied smile, turned and walked briskly out of the office. Businesslike, he mused with a grin. He loved her when she was all business. Come to think of it, he loved her whatever she did.

"New York," Steele muttered. "Why did it have to be New York? Why not Las Vegas or some Paradise holiday resort?"

 

* * *

 

He stood in a room. He didn't know where the room was or why he was here, he simply knew he was standing here, facing the TV. He looked around. There was a couch behind him, some pictures on the wall, a few plants, which looked rather dead, and a desk with a chair. He tried to walk over to the desk, but found he couldn't. Confused he stared at his feet. They felt like they were rooted to the spot. What was going on here? Why was he here?

The door to the room opened and a woman came in. She looked like a cleaning lady and was carrying a mop and a bucket, as well as a large garbage bag.

"Hello," he said.

The woman looked up. Her eyes went wide as she saw him and her mouth opened as if to say something.

"Could you ...." he began, but was interrupted by a shrill scream.

The cleaning lady let go of the broom, bucket and garbage bag and screamed again, her hands flying to her mouth. Then she fled from the room.

He was even more confused. Why ...? How ....? He tried to move again and found somehow he was now allowed to walk. He went over to the door and opened it. He now faced an empty corridor. No-one in sight. As he tried to step outside he was thrown back violently. He got to his feet again, confusion making way for puzzlement. He couldn't get out of the room? Why??

 

* * *

 

"This isn't what I ordered you to do." The calm voice was filled with menace and the creature in front of the beautiful women cringed in fear.

"Milady Lilith," he began, addressing one of the women, "there was no other way."

The dark-haired and blue-eyed woman looked at him in disdain. "There was another way. You killed because you felt the lust for a death. You wanted blood."

The creature sputtered a protest, but he knew they were right.

"Now the knowledge of where he hid the book is lost," the woman who had spoken first said. She was blonde and grey-eyed.

"No, milady ....."

"Search for the book, creature," the third woman commanded, a raven-haired beauty with emerald eyes.  "Don't dare to show your face here again until you have finished that task."

The creature nodded eagerly and departed.

The three women exchanged glances.

"He will not succeed," the blonde said.

"He is merely a decoy for the Other Ones, Lilith," the raven-haired answered.

"We still have the mortals," the dark-haired reminded them.

"The Master won't like it," the raven-haired stated matter-of-factly.

"He will have the book in his power soon, Lamia."

"And then the world belongs to us."

 

* * *

 

It had been a slow week at Ghostbuster Central. It was warm, it was holiday time and most of the people with ghosts were too lazy to go all screaming and yelling. Janine Melnitz, the Ghostbusters' secretary and a part-time Ghostbuster herself, sat at her desk and did a crossword puzzle. She had filed everything there was to file, written every letter, cleaned out her hard drive with Ray's help and printed all the letters she had typed before. Now she was bored to death.

One floor up the TV was on, but the occupant of the couch seemed completely disinterested in the program. Winston Zeddemore sipped at his soda and sighed. Doing nothing was worse than having an overflowing schedule of busts. Ray and Egon were catching up on some research and experiments. Maybe he could work on Ecto, Winston thought. There was one of the car shows he loved taking Ecto-1 to coming up, and he hadn't cleaned the interior yet. Switching off the TV he trudged down. Janine looked up, curious to see if he meant to do something interesting.

"Hi, Janine. Wanna help me clean Ecto's interior?" the black Ghostbuster called.

She pulled a face. "Are you serious?"

He laughed. "No." Then he went over to get a vacuum cleaner and some rags.

Janine settled back to her crossword puzzle just as the door of the old firehall opened. She looked up again, but was disappointed. No customer. Peter Venkman, the last of the quartet of Ghostbusters, entered Central, a bright and satisfied smile on his lips.

"Hello everybody!" he called and grinned.

"You're in an exceptionally good mood," Winston observed. "Had a date?"

"Yeah. She's a real lady," Venkman told his friend. "Beautiful, intelligent ...."

"Rich," Janine added dryly.

He pulled a face. "That, too. But I never noticed it."

Winston surpressed a chuckle. That would be the day when Peter didn't peek at the bank account of his dates. Not that he was after a rich woman to marry. But women with money -- good-looking women with money -- pulled him to them like a magnet.

"What was her name again? Cassy?"

"Cassandra," Peter corrected Zeddemore. "Cassandra Emmerdale-Worcester. " With that he disappeared up the stairs.

"Pretty steady date," Janine observed after he was gone. "He's never stayed with one of those rich types for such a long time."

Winston nodded. She was right. Normally 'those rich types' dumped Peter after a few weeks when they had shown him around. As a Ghostbuster he was an attraction -- like all the others were, too. Even Winston had once encountered a woman who only wanted to date him because he was 'one of the famous Ghostbusters', as she had told him. Then again, Cassandra didn't look like the typical rich woman. She was beautiful, but appeared shy, and she never boasted with her money by dressing expensively. Maybe she was Peter's type. Winston smiled.

"Nothing wrong with that," was his only comment to Janine and then went on to get all the things he would need for his task.

Janine shrugged and returned to her crossword puzzle at hand. Suddenly the phone rang. She was startled by the unexpected sound and stared at the small device on her desk with fascination. She picked up the receiver.

"Ghostbusters, you got 'em, we bust 'em. .... yes, of course ... no, no problem at all .... naturally ...... They'll be over in no time." She hung up and looked over to Winston, who was looking back expectantly. With a wide grin she hit the alarm button. "We got one!"

 

* * *

 

The plane touched down as scheduled and Steele and Laura proceeded through the gate, and then took a cab to their hotel. While they drove away from the airport and toward Manhattan Steele once again wondered what had made them take the case. This wasn't the most unusual case they had ever had and it wasn't even a murder. It was simply a retrieval. True, the man who had taken the book had, in effect, stolen it, but Mrs. Hatmore had made it quite clear that she only wanted the book back. She didn't care if they took the thief to the police or not.

Maybe that was the reason Steele thought this case was strange. Combined with their employer it was highly unusual. Mrs. Hatmore had entered their office only a week ago, dressed in highly expensive, but conservative clothes. She was a beautiful woman in her early thirties, as Steele had guessed, with raven hair, bound in a knot, and green eyes. He was sure she would look stunning in an evening dress. And somehow one thought had entered his mind as she had walked into the office: she moved like a cat. It wasn't that she did it deliberately, in the way most stunning women displayed their body. It was as if she moved naturally like that.

Mrs. Hatmore had offered them the case, to search for a book stolen from her by a man named Bernard McCauly. She hadn't said much as to what kind of book it was, only that it was old and very expensive. And she wanted it back. She had offered them an incredible amount of money, something that made Steele immediately suspicious, and told them if they needed more they would get it, no problem.

To his complete surprise Laura had found nothing at all suspicious about either the woman, the case or the amount of payment. For her Mrs. Hatmore was a disgustingly wealthy woman who desperately wanted something back that had been stolen from her. But why didn't she want the thief to be put behind bars? Laura had simply shrugged, saying that maybe she didn't want to make a fuss.

Frowning Steele watched the building pass by. What was it that made him so suspicious? Why only him? Mildred, their right hand and part time helper, didn't think anything of this either. And because Mildred thought everything was dandy it made Steele even more careful. Something was going on, something he saw, but the others didn't. Now he only had to find out what it was.

"Here you are," the cabby said and stopped the car.

Steele peered out of the window. Yes, that was their hotel. He got out of the car, paid the driver and then unloaded their baggage.

"We should first check out his last address," Laura told him as they walked to their rooms after checking in. "If he's still there we'll get him, if he isn't we have to find him."

"What if he sold the book?" Steele asked reasonably.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Old instinct?"

He smiled wryly. "It's not a hot item. Well, at least not as hot as a Picasso. If he wants to get rid of it he could sell it everywhere. Nobody asks about books." _Not even us. We don't know what kind of book he stole. We have a picture of it, but don't know if it's a novel, a recipe book or a family album. Why didn't she tell us? What is Mrs. Hatmore hiding?_

"Then why don't you check out the second hand book-shops?" Laura teased as she turned the key to her room. "I guess there are only a few hundred on this island."

He grimaced and followed her inside, watching her dump the suitcase on her bed. "We should resort to desperate measures later," Steele said and closed the door. His room was right next to Laura's, connected by a door.

Laura fished a few items out of her suitcase and then looked at him. "Don't you want to get to your room and change?"

He smiled at her, raising both eyebrows. "I like this room."

She sighed and lifted one corner of her mouth in a mocking smile. "I can always switch rooms with you."

He approached her. "I like this room with everything and everybody inside as it is right now."

Laura held up a hand. "Business, Mr. Steele."

He gave her a disappointed look, then shrugged. "Business," he muttered and took his suitcase. "I'll be .." he gestured at the wall behind which his room was.

"You are," she nodded and gestured as well. Then she disappeared into the bathroom.

Steele stayed a second longer, watched the bathroom door, then left. No way he would get anywhere today.

 

* * *

 

"They killed him in cold blood!"

Indra, a young man dressed in a red and gold tunic, sighed. "Diana, nobody could predict that they would find him here in New York that fast. He had barely the time to call in. And I believe the murder was an accident. They know the Law just like we do."

"What about the book?" a man asked.

"Our friend has it, Ptah, but its possession endangers him gravely. We can't let him risk his mortal life for us again. It was dangerous to just take it out of hiding." Diana looked desperate. "We are not ready yet! We need time! The book has to be hidden for a while longer."

"Did they see him take it?" a younger man asked.

Diana shrugged. "We are not sure, but it's too dangerous to assume anything. He has to deposit it somewhere they won't search for it."

The last being in the room, neither all male or female, and not the least bit human, coughed. "There is one place they won't expect us to hide it, one place they fear to tread."

The others looked at the creature, which looked back at them with iridescent eyes, its wings rustling slightly.

"Where?" Ptah asked.

"A place called Ghostbuster Central."

 

* * *

 

"There is a faint reading here, gentlemen," Egon reported and described a wide arc with his P.K.E. meter, taking in the complete room. "But the ghost is gone."

Ray looked a bit disappointed. "Then we are too late?"

"Not quite. These readings are quite interesting." The blond physicist frowned at the P.K.E. meter. "It seems there are two readings intermixing here, one a class-4, the  other ... stronger." His frown deepened. "I can't say for sure right now. We have to return to the lab to single out both frequencies."

Peter had his thrower cocked jauntily at his shoulder and yawned. "All this fuss just to find nothing? Gee, next time call me when you find something. I'll be back in bed."

Winston grinned. "If you hadn't partied that much, Pete, m'man, then you'd be awake on the job now."

"What job?" Venkman complained. "We were called to take a look at an empty room."

"Not completely, Peter. The readings I have might turn out to be very conclusive. Right now we have to return home."

"Sounds good with me," Peter said readily and left the room.

Winston followed, shaking his head, as did Ray and Egon, both in deep conversation concerning the readings. Outside they were stopped by a stocky woman in a brightly colored tent of a dress.

"Well?" she asked.

"Sorry, Mrs. Smith-Martinez, but the ghost seems to be gone for now," Ray said.

"Then it must have been poor Mr. McCauly," Mrs. Smith-Martinez said gravely.

"It is possible for a deceased to show up at the place he died," Egon confirmed. "But like my colleague said, he wasn't here for some time and most likely won't return."

"I hope he went to heaven," the woman said. "He was such a nice guy."

The four Ghostbusters stepped out of the building and walked toward Ecto-1.

"We're not even getting paid for this," Peter grumbled as they got into the car.

"Next time, buddy." Winston started the engine and they were off to Ghostbuster Central.

"You know, it's strange that the police didn't seal the apartment for further investigation," Ray mused out aloud.

Winston nodded. "Yeah, normally the place of a murder is sealed off by police lines. But Mrs. Smith-Martinez also told us that everything looks like he poisoned himself. No signs of a fight, no wounds, no nothing. I have a friend who was with the police once and he said if the case is blatantly pointing toward suicide they just do the routine investigations."

"Maybe we should ask the police," Ray said.

"Why?" Peter asked. "It's not important for the case, Ray. If there's a ghost in there we'll bust it."

"Yes, but if it is the ghost of a murder victim it might want its killer caught and that's why it came back. Like some unfinished business." Ray shrugged. "It won't hurt."

Peter sighed. "If you want to battle police bureaucracy and answer dumb questions, be my guest. I just want to sleep for a week!"

 

* * *

 

The apartment building where McCauly had his apartment was a rather small and old. It looked like out of the 19th century and had just lately been redone. Steele and Laura entered the building and looked for McCauly's name on the post boxes.

"Upper floor," Laura read and climbed purposefully up the stairs. Steele followed.

As they arrived on the second floor they nearly bumped into a woman. She was stocky, small and dressed in flowery clothes that didn't really fit her.

"Oh, sorry," she apologized immediately. Then she looked critically at them, a smile on her face. "Here to take a look at the empty apartment?"

"No, not really. We are looking for Mr. McCauly's apartment." Laura gave the woman her most charming smile.

"Well, dear, then you are too late, I'm afraid."

Steele raised an eyebrow. "He moved out?"

"You could say so..... but he did it in a casket." The woman shrugged.

"He died?" Laura asked.

"Yes." The woman leaned closer. "Word around here is he committed suicide because of a woman."

"And what does the police say?"

"Oh, they only searched the room, asked a few questions, and carried away the body." She smiled. "You want to see the apartment now? It's really a nice one if you don't mind the fact that the poor guy died in there."

"How did he die?" Steele asked.

"Poisoned." The woman gestured at the door at the end of the corridor. "That's the apartment. Now, are you interested? You are really in luck because no one else has answered my ads yet. I'm the owner, Patty Smith-Martinez."

"Of course we'd like to see the apartment," Laura decided abruptly. "That's what we came here for, didn't we, darling?" She looked at Steele.

The dark-haired man blinked once, then smiled back. "Of course .... honey."

Laura shot him a murderous look and then they followed Mrs. Smith-Martinez. She unlocked the door and they entered the apartment of the late Mr. McCauly.

While Mrs. Smith-Martinez began to talk about the comfortable rooms, the great view and the low rent, Laura and Steele gave the rooms a much closer look. Mrs. Smith-Martinez mainly aimed her praise for the apartment at Laura, trying to hit her 'housewife' streak, which, Steele mused, Laura didn't really possess.

Remington Steele walked through the living room into the bedroom, which was rather large for the single bed. Following Mrs. Smith-Martinez's explanations McCauly had died here, found beside his bed, poisoned. As he stared at the room he suddenly shivered. It was as if something cold had passed through him, cold and slippery. And then he felt a faint tingle run down his spine. As fast as the feeling had come it was gone again. He turned around to look whether there was an open window, but stopped. Blinking, Steele stared at the nebulous outline of a human figure, standing only a few feet away from him. He didn't know whether it was a man or a woman, but it was human. He carefully walked toward the apparition, the rational part of his mind telling him he was seeing things, that he had an hallucination. But the Irish part of his mind, the part which had been told oh-so many ghost stories, knew it was real. His hand passed through the apparition and he felt cold again.

"Help .... book .... stolen."

The words drifted through the room and he staggered back as the apparition approached, stretching his arms toward him.

"Help ....  find .... urgent ....... stolen ... danger."

"What?" he asked. "What are you? Who are you?"

"Mr. Steele?"

Laura's voiced startled him and he whirled around. She was standing behind him, looking a bit worried and inquisitive. "What's up? Who are you talking to?"

He rubbed his eyes and looked back at the spot where the apparition had been a mere second ago. It was gone now. "Nothing," he muttered. "Just thought ..." he spotted Mrs. Smith-Martinez, "that this isn't my kind of apartment. Sorry, honey." He summoned a smile.

Laura gave him a queer look, then seemed to push her immediate questions back and turned to their host. "Sorry, Mrs. Smith-Martinez. My fiancee seems to be a bit spooked."

The stocky woman nodded in full understanding. "Not everyone is fit to live in such an apartment," she said knowingly. "We even had the Ghostbusters here," she added ominously, as if that made the apartment special.

"The Ghostbusters?" Steele echoed.

"Yes, one of the cleaning staff I hired to get the empty apartments cleaned once a week thought she saw a ghost and ran screaming from the building. I naturally called the Ghostbusters, but they didn't find the ghost." She shrugged. "I guess it already went away."

"You called those scam-artists?" Laura asked in disbelief.

Mrs. Smith-Martinez looked affronted. "They are not scam-artists. They helped rid New York of a great many threats!"

Laura looked unconvinced but didn't say anything. Steele merely stared back at the bedroom, a strange expression on his face.

As they left for their rental car again, Laura looked at him. "What was going on with you?"

Steele, much more in control now again, smiled at her. "Well, your fiancee was a bit spooked," he said and put his arm around her, pulling her closer.

"Spooked," she repeated unconvinced, "you? Give me a break. What was going on?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Laura decided to let the matter rest -- for now. "I'd like to talk to the police about Mr. McCauly's death and where his possessions went."

He nodded and opened the car's  passenger door. Laura was driving.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" she suddenly asked.

Steele paled for a second, but then got his act together. "Ghosts?" he echoed.

Had this been McCauly's ghost talking to him? He was sure it hadn't had a hallucination, it had been real. And McCauly had talked about the book.

"Hilarious, right? Who would believe in ghosts?" Laura shook her head. "Are you still with me, Mr. Steele?"

"Uh, yes, just thinking."

"About what?" she inquired.

He shook his head. "Just something from old times."

The brunette woman gave him a strange look, then sighed and drove on to the police precinct.

 

* * *

 

"You want me to do what?"

Thunderbird shook his head and sighed. "I know it's hard to believe, my friend, but it's the only safe place we know of right now."

"Until we can seal the book forever, it will always be in danger of getting into the hands of Evil," Diana added. "We can't let them have it."

He nodded. "I know, I know."

Thunderbird laid one hand on his shoulder. "I know you are dubious about the task we chose you for, but you are the best suited. You are of our heritage, but your human genes disguise those of your mother, and they won't detect you as what you are." A smile appeared on his face. "And since you know one of them, it's all the better."

Michael Cord sighed. "To tell the truth, I never felt safe with this thing anyway."

Cord had kept the book to himself instead of delivering it to the evidence room when he had searched the apartment of the deceased for any clues as to why he had been murdered. The second he had seen the book, had felt the faint tingle of magic emitting from it, he had known.

"Okay, I'll do it," he finally said.

 

* * *

 

The door to the old fire house opened and Janine Melnitz saw a man enter. He was clad in a sweater, jeans and a dark blue jacket, carrying a knapsack. He was neither overly good looking, nor overly bad, and could be easily missed in a crowd. The dark brown hair looked a bit wild, as if he had not yet been introduced to the usage of a comb, and was cut short. Intelligent, very dark brown eyes looked at the red-haired secretary and there was an open smile on the youthful face.

"Yes?" Janine asked and looked over the green frames of her eccentric glasses.

"I'm Michael Cord," the man said with a pleasant voice. "I'm with the NYPD. I'd like to speak to Dr. Venkman, please."

"NYPD?" Janine echoed, a feeling of ill foreboding spreading in her stomach. "Could I see your badge?"

Cord lifted one eyebrow and then showed her the badge and ID card.

Janine studied it intensely, then looked at him again. "What'd he do this time?"

Cord grinned. "Nothing. I just like to talk to him? Is he in?"

Janine, still suspicious, nodded and stood up, leading him up the stairs to the second floor. There they found Peter and Ray stretched out in front of the TV, watching an old movie. Winston had his head buried in a book and Egon was no-where to be seen. He was likely to be in his lab.

"Dr. Venkman?"

Peter looked up and his eyes widened as he took in the man at Janine's side. "Mike!" he called out in surprise, getting up and walking over. The two men shook hands and judging from the friendly expression in Peter's face, Cord had to be a good friend. "What brings you here? I paid all my tickets. And I haven't played the stereo any louder than usual."

Michael laughed and his eyes sparkled with amusement. "You guys got a problem with us cops, or what? Your secretary went all white, too, when I told her I'm with the NYPD."

"Just being cautious," Janine answered, but grinned, too. Then she went downstairs again.

Ray and Winston came over and Peter introduced them. "Ray you already know," Ray nodded and smiled, "Winston Zeddemore, Michael Cord. Old pal of mine."

"Hi, Ray, nice to see you again, buddy," Cord greeted him.

Winston shook hands, looking at the officer with interest. Then he looked at Peter. "You never told us you know someone with the NYPD, Peter."

The psychologist shrugged. "Wasn't exactly a friendly meeting."

Michael gave a snort of surpressed laughter. "Yeah, and I wouldn't say we exactly 'met'."

Winston looked curiously at the cop. "Where did you 'not exactly meet' Peter?"

"Psychiatric Ward," Cord said with a neutral expression.

"What?!"

"I was an intern in the Psychiatric Ward and Mike here was posing as someone mentally unstable because he was on a case." Peter shrugged. "And he did a hell of a good imitation." A grin crept over his lips. "I've yet to recover from the blow you gave me."

Michael looked indignant. "I was just trying to stay in my role." He turned to Ray and Winston. "But he found out anyway. A student! When all the doctors and professors had been fooled."

Peter grinned smugly. "Some got it, some don't. Anyway, you solved your case, got transferred and left the city."

"And now I'm back."

"Uh-huh. Old memories aside, what brings you here?"

Cord sobered a bit. "Nothing pleasant, Peter."

"Let's sit down then." Peter steered him over to the couch. "Something to do with us as Ghostbusters or me as a friend?" he wanted to know.

"I'd like to say the second, but I fear it's the first."

"Winston, go and peel Egon off his experiment, will you? I think he should sit on with this one, too."

Winston went off to the third floor and minutes later Egon came down the stairs. When he saw Cord, a smile stretched over his lips.

"Hello, Michael," he greeted him. "What an unexpected surprise." The shook hands and Egon sat down on the couch which was already occupied by Ray and Peter.

"Well, I wish it would be a pleasant surprise as well," the cop said. "But it isn't. This has something to do with the latest case I'm working on." He stopped, apparently searching for the right words to start. "There was a murder a few days ago; a man was poisoned and found in his apartment."

"Gee, that's terrible, Mike," Ray said immediately.

Cord nodded. "It was. We haven't found a motif yet, but that's nothing you should be concerned about. I came here because of something we found in  his possessions." He reached into his knapsack and pulled out a book. It was rather small, a bit larger than a pocket book, and leather-bound. He gave it to Ray.

The occultist took it and began to inspect it right away, leafing through the pages.

"What is it?" Winston wanted to know.

"I'm not sure," Cord answered, rubbing his nose. "Ray knows I'm a believer where the occult and your business is concerned. We more than once met on such conventions."

Ray looked up from his study of the book and nodded with a smile. "I can tell you," he addressed Winston, "I was really surprised that a police officer believed in the occult so readily."

"Well, comes with the family. Mom was always a believer and it rubs off. And since you guys opened up your business there's no denying ghosts. But," he came back to his reason for visiting, "I didn't come here to talk about me. That book is something special, as far as I can tell. I had it looked at by a friend who sells occult stuff and she says so as well. It was found by the dead man and I'd like to ask a favor of you, Ray."

"Anything."

"Could you have a closer look at it? Find out what it is? I don't know if it is connected to the murder, but I don't like that thing." Cord pointed at the book in Ray's hands. He hoped they'd say yes. He wasn't so wild about the Ghostbusters really scanning the book, but he needed a reason for them to keep it.

"Sure, no problem. We could take readings and look it up in Tobin's Spirit Guide," Ray said readily.

Egon nodded as well. "I believe there are several methods to determine what kind of book it is and where it originated from."

"Thanks, guys, I really appreciate that." Cord rose from the chair. "Listen, I gotta go back to the precinct before they put an APB out on me." He grinned. "Call me if you find anything. If I'm not in, leave a note."

"Will do." Peter escorted Cord down to the door while Ray immediately set to work on the book, aided by Winston, while Egon went back to his work on the readings he had taken at the apartment.

* * *

 

"He is of a mixed heritage."

The statement hung in the air and everyone turned to look at the speaker, an old woman in a baggy dress. On her shoulder sat a raven, which nodded eagerly.

"Mirial," Ptah said calmly, "he can't be of a mixed heritage because we would have felt that. We knew that Michael was a halfling when we first met."

Witch Mirial nodded. "Yes, of course, my ancient friend, but he has never been raised by one of our kind. Michael's mother was a Faerie and she married a human. They both raised their son and she influenced him."

"So he doesn't know?" Athena asked.

"No. And I believe," Mirial clarified, "that he isn't a halfling. Somewhere in his Irish background is a supernatural, but its power never surfaced and never will."

The raven shook his wings.

"What does that make him?" Ptah asked.

"A friend," Athena immediately said.

Witch Mirial nodded and her raven did the  
same. "A good friend who will need friends in the future," the raven, his name was Chery, added. "And who might be the essential element in our confrontation with Evil over the book."

"You looked into your crystal ball again, right?" Athena chided.

The raven cawed. "No, she had me look into it. Still got a headache," he complained.

Witch Mirial smiled. "Of course you did it for me, dearie. You love the ball."

Chery cawed again, but didn't say anything otherwise.

"I think we shouldn't be concerned with the future," Ptah interjected reasonably. "It is the present that is important.

The griffin, who had been silent for a long time, nodded. "And if I judge our new friend correctly, he will influence the present. If Miriel's crystal tells her that he might be essential in the upcoming battle, then he should be told about us."

The others looked uneasily at him, then nodded slowly in agreement.

 

* * *

 

The raven-haired woman seethed with anger. "Where is it?!"

"It was brought in by the police and then moved away again," the creature in front of her explained.

Hathor stared at the troll and snorted. "Then everything is in the hands of those two mortals I assigned the case to. Call everyone back from the search and gather them here. We will wait until the mortals report in and then we'll seize the book."

The troll, whose name was Grondrock, nodded. "Yes, milady."

When he had left, Hathor fell back into her cushioned chair. "Imbecile!" she muttered.

A man entered her room and leaned casually against her chair. He was a lean, athletic, dark-skinned man, dressed in what looked like an merican Indian embroided shirt and black jeans. "Well, well, well, has the mighty Hathor lost her prey." A smile flashed over his face, showing gleaming white teeth.

Hathor's green eyes flashed. "Watch your tongue, Raven. You might end as cat-food."

Raven only chuckled. "You don't have the power any longer, my dear."

"Nor do you. If we had we wouldn't need to depend on mortals doing our work."

"Even if we were as powerful as thousands of years ago, we couldn't interfere. That's the Rule, my dear." Raven shrugged.

Hathor drummed her fingers on her chair. "I know," she ground out between her teeth. "If I still had my worshippers ..."

Raven rolled his eyes. "Old song, my dear. If you still had your worshippers, and your husband, and and and and ...."

Hathor shot him another murderous look.

"Let's wait for the mortals," Raven decided. "Then we'll see."

The raven-haired woman, formerly one of the most powerful Egyptian goddesses, slumped back in her chair. "Yes, we'll see. Now we have to return to the undignified method of sending out our mortal servants to settle things for us."

 

* * *

 

The precinct was quite busy at this time of the evening and Laura and Steele had a hard time just to get to the sergeant's desk without getting involved in some kind of brawl between hoodlums and officers.

"What a mess," Steele remarked as he looked out of the window of the little cubicle they had been shown to.

Laura nodded. They had been told to wait here for the detective handling the McCauly case after they had identified themselves and told their story. Now the door opened, admitting rude curses and shouts for silence, mixed with phones ringing insistingly. A dark-haired man entered, dressed in jeans and a light colored sweat-shirt.

"Mr. Steele, Ms Holt, I'm Detective Cord," he introduced himself. "The Sergeant told me you were on the same case I am?"

Steele was immediately wary of the man. Something wasn't right about him. As with Mrs. Hatmore he couldn't say what it was, it was only a feeling; something that had saved him lots and lots of trouble in his previous jobs and which he tended not to ignore.

He put on his best smile and shook the man's hand. "Remington Steele," he said. "And yes, you might help us with our case."

Cord sat down, cocking an expectant eyebrow. "Okay, shoot."

Laura was the one to talk first. "We were hired to retrieve an object stolen by Mr. McCauly a few days ago. Our client said she wanted back the item and we tracked the man here, but when we arrived at his apartment we were told he had been murdered. Poisoned. Since the police confiscated a lot of things, including the meager possessions of Mr. McCauly, we thought we might pay you a visit and find out if what was stolen from our client is among these possessions."

Cord looked a bit surprised. "You know a lot about what happened to McCauly's stuff."

Steele smiled. "We had a talk with Mrs. Smith-Martinez."

"Ah." The detective grinned.

"What we'd like to know now," Laura went on, "is whether we could have a look at McCauly's possessions."

Cord shrugged. "Nothing much there. Maybe if you told me what you're looking for I could tell you."

"A book," Steele said. "Small, leather-bound. Our client wants it back since McCauly stole it while being employed by her."

For a second Steele thought he saw something flash in those dark eyes of the officer, something akin to a bit of fear. Then Cord shook his head.

"Sorry, no book. He had a few clothes, his personal belongings and such stuff, but no book. Not even a notebook."

Laura looked disappointed. "Thanks," she muttered.

Cord smiled. "No problem."

 

 

When they stood outside the precinct, Steele was lost in thought. Laura was talking about something she wanted to do and her sharp call of his name startled him.

"What are you thinking of, Mr. Steele? You are a bit distant with your thoughts."

He gave her an apologetic look. "I was just calculating our chances on whether he sold the book or not," he lied.

"Well, if you want to check the bookstores, be my guest. I'll search the apartment."

He grimaced. "Given the choice between books and Mrs. Smith-Martinez, I'll take the books."

She chuckled and walked to their car. "I'll meet you at the hotel in a few hours. Shops should close soon."

"Then I'll better hurry up," Steele said. "See you!"

He walked down the street toward the next bus stop. After a few feet he turned to look over his shoulder, noting that Laura had driven off. He stopped and walked back to the police station. He entered the building again and searched for Cord. There were still crowds of people here and it wasn't easy, but then he saw him talk to a woman in civilian clothes. The woman nodded and he gave her a good-bye wave, walking toward the exit. Steele dove behind the water dispenser and waited for Cord to pass. The detective didn't see him and Steele slipped out after him.

To his relief Cord didn't seem to possess a car or, if he did, he didn't want to use it. He just walked down the street, turning several corners until he arrived at a small mall. Steele followed him all the way, hiding here and there or falling behind. When Cord disappeared into the mall, Steele didn't hesitate. Inside the building he might loose the detective and he didn't want to risk that.

Cord walked down into the basement, entering an amusement gallery. He walked purposefully down the slightly dark corridor to a theme park featuring fantasy puppets and suddenly was gone. Steele stopped, unsure all of a sudden. He carefully approached the site where Cord had been only seconds before, but he was gone.

"Damn," he muttered and looked around. There was a passageway leading down left of him, possible a service way. He made a step toward it when he was suddenly grabbed and roughly shoved against a wall. Survival instincts, honed by years on the street and always on the run, took over and he fought back. The other man was strong and he seemed a bit surprised that Steele fought back because the private investigator was able to get free for a second. Then the other guy got a hold of him again, his fist connecting with Steele's mid-section.

"Now, Mr. Steele," Cord's voice whispered angrily, "why are you following me?"

Steele coughed, his stomach hurting. He relaxed a bit, then, as the detective relaxed as well, sprung forward, again surprising Cord. He slammed the police detective against the opposite wall, pinning him down.

"Why are you lying about the book?" he asked back, his voice equally tinged with anger.

"What?" Cord was a bit startled. "I didn't ...."

"Oh, yes you did! I saw it in your eyes! And what were you planning to do now? Contact the buyer?" Steele didn't know why but somehow he was convinced that something was behind all this. This wasn't something simple and easily explained.

Cord looked at him, relaxing a bit. "How did you know? I was sure I didn't show any reaction."

Steele let go of him, though he was ready to intercept any of Cord's attempts. "Like I said, it showed. I know this book must be something special. First there's this lady who will pay anything to get it back, then there's you who will  
do anything to hide it, as it seems."

The detective shook his head, smiling. "You have an uncanny way of getting into trouble, Mr. Steele," he then said. "Do you know who hired you?"

"A woman named Hatmore. Monica Hatmore. Why?" Steele was growing even more suspicious now.

"Well, that's not her real name, nor does she usually look the way you saw her." Cord hesitated a second. "Mr. Steele, tell me, are you a believer of myths and legends?"

"What's that gotta do with it?"

"A lot," was the answer, "because it explains why you never blindly believed what Hatmore told you, or did you?"

Steele shook his head.

 

"Then you are a believer. You believe in mythical creatures, don't you? You aren't as rational as other people."

"What does that have to do with McCauly .... or the book?" Steele demanded.

"Quite a few things. Come with me. I want you to meet some people." Cord walked deeper into the service corridor.

Steele hesitated, then followed. After a few more feet they arrived at a door. Cord opened it and entered. Steele found himself in a large service room. There were a bearded man in rather out-of-date clothes and a woman clad in jeans and T-shirt standing motionlessly around. As Cord closed the door and turned on the light Steele noticed that there was also a large model of  a griffin ..... looking at him -- really looking at him. He stared at the creature, which stared back at him. When it moved its eyes he made several steps back.  It was alive! The strange feeling  
came back, overwhelming him. He wanted nothing more than to turn and run.

"Who is your friend, Michael?"

The deep voice rolled around the room, giving Steele nearly a heart attack. He licked his suddenly dry lips, searching for a way out.

"A believer," a female voice answered and the woman turned, smiling at him. "Welcome, my friend of many names, my name is Athena."

 

* * *

 

The Ghostbusters sat at the living room table, Egon with a few sheets of paper at his side, Ray with the book.

"The situation is serious, gentlemen," the blond physicist began.

"I already love it," Peter muttered.

"I completed my analysis of the two frequencies we picked up in the apartment. One is a Class-4, not very strong, normal valences. The readings were faint, mainly because it wasn't present when we arrived.

"When we arrived?" Winston echoed.

"Yes, Winston. I theorize that the ghost is still connected to the apartment, but only appears for special occasions."

"Weddings, birthdays and stuff like that?" Peter quipped.

Egon shot him an annoyed look. "Since we can't trap it if it doesn't show," he continued, "we have to devise a way to make it materialize."

"Could be done," Ray said immediately. "Ghosts react to certain stimuli just like humans, so if we find the stimulus we can trap it."

"Correct. But then there is the second reading, which had me confused for a long time. It is negative and exceeds every scale I can put it up to."

"You mean it's stronger than even the Ghostmaster?" Peter asked in disbelief.

"I wouldn't say stronger, Peter. Its readings are not measurable with our machines, but it's not stronger than the Ghostmaster." Egon studied one of the sheets of paper. "It must be corporeal to radiate those negative readings and I believe it was in the apartment before the ghost was there. Shortly before that, to be correct."

Winston frowned. "Didn't the owner of that apartment building tell us that the tenant died in there?"

"Correct."

"Maybe he had an encounter with the other being," Peter said, suddenly thoughtful.

Egon looked at him, blue eyes serious. "That's what I was thinking about as well. I firmly believe that the ghost of the deceased, and the deceased, had contact with the negative entity."

"It killed him," Ray muttered sadly.

"We don't know that for sure," Peter immediately said.

"Could you find a trace of what kind of negative entity it was?" Winston asked.

"It's very difficult because Tobin's has many entities of this strength, but their negative valences don't match the creature's strength as picked up with the P.K.E. meter."

"So we're looking for a corporeal being that reads stronger than it really is?"

Egon nodded. "Correct, Peter. I don't know what could be responsible for this mismatch. Normally entities display the level of power they read on a P.K.E. meter, but not this one."

"What now?" Peter wanted to know.

"I could configure the P.K.E. meters to pick up the signals of this being, but it will take some time." Egon didn't look pleased.

"Maybe this will help us in our search," Ray said and held up the book. "It's a very interesting piece of literature. The book is very old and was handwritten. As far as I was able to find out it is a Handbook of Magic, something that's even more rare than a real sorcerer's book. Handbooks are written by several people, wizards, magicians, sorcerers, witches and so on. The power in those books is incredible!" Ray's eyes were aglow with enthusiasm about his findings.

"A Handbook of Magic?" Winston muttered. "Wonder how that got into the hands of the dead guy."

"Very good question, Winston, since McCauly is not of the occult circles," Ray explained. "I checked that. No one ever heard of a guy like him, and the owners of such magical objects are rather well-known throughout the communities all over this country -- and the world."

"Could you read what's written in that book?" Peter wanted to know.

Ray shook his head. "No, it's a coded language, the language of the magically talented. I guess I could find someone who could translate some things, but it's all spells and recipes."

"Recipes?" Peter grinned. "Pizzas and pastas witch style?"

Ray grinned as well. "In a way. I guess those are potions from various people."

"Have you called officer Cord yet?" Egon wanted to know.

"Yes, I tried, but he's out. I left a message."

"So," Peter leaned back, "what now?"

"I will work on the detector to find the negative valances," Egon said.

"I think I'll drive down to Harry," Ray decided. "He might know whom this book really belonged to."

"Mind some company?" Winston asked.

"No problem," Ray grinned. "Let's go."

"Don't stay too late, kids," Peter called. "It's already getting dark." Ray stuck out his tongue and they disappeared downstairs. "Well," the psychologist said and stretched, "I guess that leaves me with the slouching duties." He chuckled. "I love it."

Egon only grimaced, ignoring Peter and walking up to his lab. Peter kept on grinning and sat down on the couch, grabbing the remote.

"Let's see what's on tonight."

 

* * *

 

Laura smothered a yawn and stretched. It was only 7 p.m. but she was so burned out it felt like it was 2 a.m. and she had partied all night, not that she usually did .... Her visit to Mrs. Smith-Martinez had proven quite unnerving, since the woman had talked her ear off and on again with stories, rumors, gossip and what she thought herself had happened. After over an hour of non-stop talk Laura said good-bye, with some more information, but even more gossip.

Now she was waiting for Mr. Steele to arrive from his bookshop search. She smiled. What had gotten into him to try that dead end? He wasn't really convinced that the book had been sold to some second hand bookshop, was he?

Yawning again she sat down on the bed, removing her shoes. Maybe a little nap would do her some good, she decided.

She fell asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

 

* * *

 

"Don't be afraid," the griffin said, sitting down on his haunches. "We won't hurt you."

Remington Steele stared at the mythical being, the griffin. His brain was working at lightspeed to try and cope with the events, and his rational side told him that he had to be dreaming. But the believer in him awoke with a smile on his face, finally coming to see what he had always been told existed somewhere.

"Who ... what are you?" he whispered.

"They are the figments of humanity's dreams and stories; myths and legends brought to life," Cord said softly behind him.

Steele whirled around. He had totally forgotten about the detective. "They are .... real?"

"As real as you and Michael," Athena said and smiled. "We were borne from humanity's dreaming, the stories written about mythical creatures, legendary heroes, ancient foes and friends. We are as alive as you are, though not brought to life in any manner known to you."

"Whenever someone invented a new character, wrote about him and the readers believed in him, he was brought to life," Cord explained. "Gods became alive because of their worshippers, and they disappeared just as fast when the belief dwindled. They are still out there, but their power is gone because no-one believes in them any more."

"So, it's all a matter of belief," Steele muttered.

The griffin nodded. "Gods really have a bad time because they need worshippers. We, for instance, don't need worshippers. We are the figments of stories written about our kind."

Steele looked at Athena. "But you are a goddess, aren't you?"

She smiled. "Yes. I lost a lot of my power together with my worshippers thousands of years ago, but since people still believe I existed once, here I am. I don't have my powers, but I can still fight Evil."

"Evil? Good?" Steele shook his head. "There is never anything like purely good and purely evil." His suspicious streak struck again and he eyed the mythical entities through narrowed eyes. "How can I trust you?"

Athena smiled, but it was Cord who explained, "In reality there is no pure good and pure evil. But this isn't reality. They aren't real. They were created by dreams, stories and songs. And in stories there is always the good and the evil. Gods, demons, faeries, elves and all the others are cathegorized by us; we say which side they are on, and on this side they will stay forever, unable to switch to the other side, unable to betray."

"What .... what do you want from me? Why did you reveal yourself?" Steele finally asked after some time of silence.

"Because you are a believer, my friend. And you are working against the cause of Good right now, though you don't know it," the griffin explained. "You are being used by Evil to complete their plans. The man you hunted was a friend of ours and he was killed by Evil. They want the book he stole from Hathor's minions."

"Hathor? You mean Mrs. Hatmore?"

"That is a name she uses in this world to conceal her origin," the man said. "My name is Ptah," he introduced himself and bowed a bit.

"Our friend got the book from her servants before she could lay her claws on it," Athena explained. "But they found him anyway and killed him. Our friend was able to conceal the book and Michael took it to safety again. Evil hired you to find it for them."

"Why?" Steele asked, totally confused. "Why use Laura and me to find this book? They could just have popped in somewhere an taken it!"

"That's where you are wrong, my friend," Athena disagreed. "Evil, just as Good, is forbidden to interfere directly in the affairs of mortals. The book is in the hands of mortals and taking it by force from them is against the Law. That our friend was killed must have been an accident. Hathor will have to answer to their Master for that. Like us Evil can't just show up and take the book by force; it has to be brought to them by a mortal. Schemers as they are they hired you."

"And you hid the book through officer Cord here," Steele concluded.

Athena nodded.

"Where?"

The three supernaturals exchanged glances. Cord only shrugged.

"A safe haven for now," the griffin finally said. "We can't tell you where exactly because that would endanger the book. Your knowledge could become Hathor's knowledge."

"Okay, I understand that, but what do you plan to do? Keep on hiding the book?" He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"No, we can't do that forever. We need some more time to open the gateway to a safe place for the book," the Faerie said. "Since it takes time and power, and since we don't have much of the last, we have to stall a bit. That's why Michael decided to bring you in on it. We can't have you working against us."

Steele mulled that over. "What about Laura?"

"She is not a believer," the griffin said immediately. "She is a rationalist, a logical one. She won't believe in us and that is one reason why she never saw anything suspicious in Hathor, unlike you."

"How do you ...." Steele started.

Athena smiled. "We have ways."

"Oh."

"The portal will be open by midnight. Tonight it will be over, the book will be safe." The griffin stood and walked over to him. "It is very important. By tomorrow morning everything will be back to normal."

"Uhm...." Looking at the part eagle/part lion creature made him a bit nervous.

Cord placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go, Mr. Steele, before your friend becomes suspicious."

Steele only nodded. He looked at the three mythical beings again, then turned and let himself get led out of the amusement park. Outside he inhaled deeply.  "This is too much," he muttered.

The detective smiled. "You'll get used to it, Mr. Steele."

Steele smiled wryly. "Well, I was prepared. The Irish are world class ghost story tellers."

Cord patted his shoulder. "Which is why you were not influenced by Hathor as much as your friends."

He sighed, looking around the evening street. With surprise he noted that it was already past nine. "Laura will be mad," he muttered.

The detective chuckled. "Good luck."

Remington Steele sighed again. This was just great.

 

* * *

 

"Sorry I'm so late," Cord apologized to Peter, who was letting him in.

"No problem. We're open 24 hours a day. Ray and Winston are still roaming the streets somewhere and Egon's stuck to his work. You've come for the book?"

Michael nodded. "I have to take it back to the evidence room. It's a miracle I was allowed to take it out in the first place and the lieutenant will have my head if it doesn't appear back there by tomorrow morning's shift. I heard Ray called and left a message for me. What did you guys find out?"

"Ray said it was some kind of magic book. He went to his friends to find out if someone knows it." Peter shrugged. "He said something about healing potions and spells, but he couldn't translate it."

"So it is something special." Cord nodded. "Thought as much. It was kinda unusual. Do you have it here?"

Peter nodded. "It's upstairs."

Both men walked up the stairs where they met Egon, who was getting some coffee in the kitchen.

"Hi, Egon," Michael greeted him.

"Hello, Michael. You have come for the book?"

"Yeah, I've got to put it back with McCauly's belongings in case it is needed as evidence. Getting it to you guys was hard enough."

"I understand. Ray is still inquiring about its origin," Egon said. "We will inform you of our findings."

Cord nodded. "Thanks."

Peter held out the book to him, which the detective took and slipped into his jacket. "Thanks again, guys, see you around."

Cord left. Peter frowned a bit.

"You know, this is really strange, Egon," he said slowly.

Egon raised an eyebrow. "Strange? In what way, Peter?"

"Mike storms in here, gives us the book, then comes back here and after a quick 'thanks guys' he's gone. This doesn't make sense." Peter leaned back against the couch's back. "When he told me the lieutenant wanted the book back in the evidence room it sounded a bit like a lie."

Egon looked closely at Peter. He knew that Peter, as a psychologist, was very good at reading people, and that the dark-haired man acted a lot by instinct. And, thinking about it that way, there was no denying Michael's strange behavior.

"What do you propose?"

"That we inquire a bit about the whole matter."

Egon smiled. "And how do you want to do that? We can't exactly ask the police."

"No, but what about that doohickey of yours? Could you change it so it picks up the book? Ray said it had measurable readings and we do have samples. This way we could track him." Peter raised an eyebrow.

The blond physicist nodded thoughtfully. "It is possible. It would take about half an hour to configure the detector to search for the book. Since it has a unique reading we can find it."

"Then go for it, big guy. I'll call the precinct nevertheless to find out if Mike's on duty tonight or not." Peter gave him a clap on the shoulder and then walked down to the phone.

 

* * *

 

Remington Steele was suspicious by nature, though not overly so, but healthy  
suspicions never hurt. Even the conversation with the supernaturals had not completely made him trust either officer Cord or them. Because of that he had decided to follow Cord to wherever the detective was going. It had been tricky, especially after Cord had picked up a car at the precinct, but the cabby driving him had been very enthusiastic to be part of a secret mission, as Steele had told him. The boy hadn't been in the business long enough to be so hardheaded as to tell the P.I. to go to hell with his special wishes.

Now he waited opposite an old firehouse building with the sign of the Ghostbusters above the door. So Cord had gone to pay the Ghostbusters a visit. Why? What did they have to do with the supernaturals? Steele rubbed his aching head. Faeries, griffins, gods, all alive in modern days. This was incredible. And Laura and he were working for the Evil side of those mythical entities, helping them steal back what had been stolen from them.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" he muttered.

He wondered what the real reason for the supernaturals had been to show themselves to him. They could have misled him until midnight, until the book had been safe, but something had made him special. And it couldn't be his background. There were more people than just him who believed in fairy tales. Steele didn't think he and Laura would have presented any danger to the supernaturals. They had not been far enough in the case to really know what was going on, and if the supernaturals were telling the truth than everything would be over by midnight.

The door of the firehouse opened again and Cord came out. He was in quite a hurry and drove away from the curb so quickly Steele had no time to hail a cab. _Ah, well_ , he thought, _let's pay those Ghostbusters a visit_.

He crossed the street and knocked at the door. A minute went by and then a dark-haired man in a dark brown jumpsuit opened. "Sorry, buddy, but we're closed."

Steele smiled. "I know. My name is Remington Steele. I'm working with Officer Cord."

"Just missed him," the dark-haired man said.

"Do you know where he went?"

"Sorry, no idea."

"Thanks," Steele muttered. There was a question on his mind, concerning the existence of supernaturals, but he bit that down. The door closed after him and he leaned back against the wall. "Damnit, where did you go, Cord?" he muttered.

"Mr. Steele?"

He whirled, coming face to ...eh ... beak with the griffin. The large creature looked at him with displeasure.

"How .. what are you doing here?" Steele asked, shocked to the core.

The griffin cocked his head. "Trying to keep you from spreading trouble. Why didn't you return to your hotel?"

"Because I want to know what's going on here. And why I was brought in on it."

The griffin sighed. "Walk with me, Mr. Steele."

"Walk? Aren't you a bit suspicious the way you look?"

"No. The people here won't see me."

 _"_ Invisible griffins. Great," Steele muttered and followed the creature.

"We brought you in on the secret because we believed we had more to fear from you if you worked ignorantly of what you were doing than otherwise. We thought that you would leave the case, wait for the outcome, and accept the money Hathor so graciously gave you. But you didn't." The griffin chuckled. "Humans are so unpredictable, unlike supernaturals. You act by emotions and logic, a combination that is very hard to follow and to predict."

"But you predicted me coming here."

"Oh, there is some predictability with some humans, you for instance. We knew that you wouldn't simply do what we told you."

"Okay, and what is the other reason?"

The griffin stopped. "The other reason?" he echoed, looking innocently at him.

"Don't toy with me, you big bird!" Steele hissed angrily. "I couldn't have interefered with anything! If everything is really over by midnight, that is. Laura and I were no closer to solving the case than being a bit suspicious about Cord. I had no idea of what was going on and everything would have returned to normal after midnight tonight. So why reveal yourselves?"

The griffin sighed. "Okay," it said slowly. "The truth is, Miriel -- she's a witch -- said you might be essential in our battle against Evil tonight."

"Oh, great."

The griffin spread his wings. "Come."

"What?"

"Come, onto my back. I'll get you to the place where the book will be sealed safely for all time. We might need you. I promise I'll stay below lightspeed." The large creature chuckled again.

"Why me?" Steele muttered and climbed onto the broad, warm back. He didn't know why he was doing this at all, except that a part of him told him quite clearly to get a move on and help.

"Hold on," the griffin called and then flew off into the night sky.

Passers-by never saw a griffin take off and fly away.

 _Laura's gonna kill me_ , Steele thought as he desperately clutched the feathers and fur.

 

* * *

 

"Something is out there," Egon said and pointed the P.K.E. meter toward the wall facing the street. "Something of a negative valence and it's moving away."

He raced down the stairs, closely followed by Peter. "There was a guy outside just a minute ago, searching for Mike," Peter called as they arrived downstairs. "You think he was .... it?"

"Only if he had wings. The reading I get is from several feet above ground and moving fast. We have to follow it, Peter. It's our only lead of the other entity which was in the room with the Class-4." Egon looked at him. "We have to find it."

"Hey, guys, guess what we ...." Ray entered Ghostbuster Central and stopped. "Where are you off to?"

"We got a lead!" Peter called.

"A lead to what?" Winston wanted to know as Peter raced past him to Ecto-1, which was parked outside.

"The negative entity and possibly the book," Egon answered. "We have to move now."

"You got it man." Winston slipped behind the wheel again and Ray closed the passenger door.

Winston started the engine and they left Ghostbuster Central. "What about the book?" he asked.

"Well, the book is connected to Mr. McCauly and his death. If it was his ghost in that apartment, then I believe that he might have been killed because of this book." Egon looked grim.

"Now Mike has the book and this creature was outside Central," Peter mused out aloud. "Damnit, it must have seen him take it back!"

"Then why did it stay around for so much longer?" Egon asked reasonably. "I picked up the reading fifteen minutes after he left."

"Then maybe this guy at the door, Steele or something, was the entity after all," Peter concluded. "He asked for Mike and where he went!"

"What are you talking about?" Ray asked.

Peter gave him a quick summary of the last few hours and the occultist nodded. "I had a long talk with several friends and what they told me isn't good. The Handbook of Magic was stolen a few weeks ago, the previous owner murdered."

"Left," Egon said and Winston turned left.

"The book appeared and disappeared in a few cities all over the States," Ray went on, "until it showed up in L.A."

"And McCauly brought it to New York?" Peter asked.

"Yes. He stole it from those who had stolen it from the owner."

"Apparently they got to him, too," the psychologist muttered.

"Yes, but the police interfered this time and Cord brought the book to us to be examined," Ray added.

"Though I'm not sure he had that in mind when he brought it here," Peter muttered, his suspicious streak showing again. "He claimed it back too fast, unwilling to wait for what you two guys would find out."

Winston frowned. "Why would he give us the book in the first place? And who is after it?"

"The creature with the negative readings," Ray said with conviction.

"It's moving away from the precinct," the physicist suddenly said. "It's aiming for Central Park."

Winston floored the pedal and Ecto-1 shot forward, also aiming at Central Park. "Why would Officer Cord go to Central Park?" he asked. "This is getting more and more confusing."

"It sure is," Peter agreed.

 

* * *

The griffin landed near a small lake in Central Park and Steele climbed off its back, legs shaky. He walked a few steps away from the supernatural and looked around. Here he was, close to midnight, in Central Park ...

"I must be mad," he muttered.

The griffin chuckled. "All believers are mad  
to some degree."

"Thank you."

"I see you found him," a voice said and  
Steele discovered Athena walking toward them. She was no longer dressed in jeans and a sweat shirt but in tight leather outfit. Steele stared at her, feeling his hormones make a jump. Athena was followed by two women and two men, all wearing different clothes. 

"So this is the mortal hired by Hathor," one of the men said with a pleasant dark voice. "It is good to see you are a believer."

One of the two women held up the book. She looked as stunning as Athena. "Our mortal friend gave this to me, Athena. We are ready."

Athena nodded. "Friend of many names," she addressed Steele. "We brought you here to prevent you from getting yourself into trouble. Walking around the streets now would be dangerous since Evil has sent forth an army of mortals to try and retrieve the book before it is sealed. You, as a former, though unknowing, servant of Hathor, could be a target since you were searching for our friend Michael and the book."

Steele nodded, feeling like taking part in a fantasy movie. This was getting too much. Another supernatural appeared, this one not disguised as a human. It looked like a medieval monster with wings and a tail, but there was also a beauty to it that was hard to deny.

"Delia will be your guard for the Sealing. We expect the forces of Evil to come any minute now."

"You're expecting an attack?" Steele looked nervously around.

"Yes." Athena turned and walked toward the lake. "Bring the book, Diana."

Steele wanted to follow the little troop, but his guardian stopped him. "We will wait here," Delia said.

Steele eyed her nervously. "May I ask what you are?"

Delia smiled. "A gargoyle."

"Oh, yeah, sure." He shook his head, then looked anxiously around.

The gargoyle smiled. "You will be safe here in case of an attack."

Steele wasn't so sure. He wasn't so sure at all.

 

* * *

 

Laura woke with a start. It was dark inside her room and only the light from the streets and the other buildings around her came through the window. For a second she was confused as to where she was, then she remembered. A glance at the clock beside her bed told her it was somewhere close to eleven p.m.

She had slept for over three hours! She got out of the bed, slipped into her shoes and was on the way to the door when she noticed a movement. Laura turned and saw a dark shadow move toward her. She wanted to scream to alarm someone, but a strong hand was clasped over her mouth.

"Don't scream, mortal," a rough voice said and she thought she saw a pair of red glowing eyes. Then everything went black around her.

 

* * *

 

"We're in Central Park, at midnight, possibly together with a bunch of hoodlums hiding in the shrubbery, and we're searching for a creature we don't even know where it came from." Peter checked his proton rifle again. "Can it get any better than this?"

Winston smiled grimly. It was true that Central Park wasn't the safest of all places, especially at night, but they had the proton packs, in case something happened.

"We are very close to the entity," Egon reported. "It seems there are more of them than just the one we followed."

"More than one?" Peter repeated. "Oh, goody."

"All of the entities show high negative readings, but all of them display a power unnatural to their classification." Egon walked on, eyes on the illuminated screen. "Very unusual."

Peter, Ray and Winston readied their throwers as they approached the place where those entities were, following Egon's readings. Suddenly something popped up in front of them. The P.K.E. meter squealed as the negative energy overloaded it, then went up in smoke.

"Take cover!" Winston yelled and fired at the creature, which looked like a large bird.

The bird roared like a lion and swiped its claws at the Ghostbusters. The four men split up and attacked the creature.

"We can't trap it!" Ray yelled. "It's corporeal!"

"Great!" Peter yelled back. "So what are we gonna do?!"

"Try to ward if off!" Egon ordered.

"Ward it off," Peter muttered, trying to keep out of range of the sharp claws. "Sure."

And then he was grabbed from behind. He gave a cry of protest as strong hands twisted his arms. The thrower switched off automatically and fell to the ground as he was forced to let go.

"Peter!"

Ray aimed at his attacker and Peter heard a pained cry as the proton beam hit its target. The close range to the ionized protons made Peter's hair stand on end. He jumped forward and rolled away from the attacker, groping for his rifle. As he looked at his attacker he was surprised to see a blond, muscular man in what looked like a Conan outfit. The man was holding a hammer in one hand and was whirling it around.

Suddenly a dark cloud seemed to turn the darkness even darker. The little light the proton streams and a few lamps shed was drowned in the blackness. About a dozen men appeared out of the darkness and attacked the two who had attacked the Ghostbusters.

Peter got to his feet and ran over to Egon. "What's going on here?"

"The men are not paranormal; they are humans. But those two are of the same origin as the ghost in the apartment." Egon shook his head as he looked at his spare P.K.E. meter.

More entities appeared, battling the men. The men were clad like street hoodlums, wielding baseball bats, knives, guns and chains. The entities' army was made of the griffin, the blond man, a unicorn, and male and female humanoid creatures in clad various styles. Though they were supernaturals they battled as if they had no powers at all. There were no lightning attacks, no fires coming from their fingers, no floating around and stuff like that.

From one second to another a column of light shot into the sky. The Ghostbusters flinched and turned.

"It's coming from the lake!" Winston called.

"Then let's take a look at it," Peter decided grimly.

 

* * *

 

The gargoyle flinched as if something had hit her and Remington Steele looked at her. "What?" he asked.

"They are here," she muttered darkly. "The portal will open soon and ....." She opened her wings, which were shaking slightly in anticipation.

Without any warning something jumped at them out of the darkness. It tackled the gargoyle and she roared in pain as a knife was driven into her muscular arm. She flung back the attacker and a second one took his place.

"Run!" she cried.

Steele didn't need to be told twice. He ran toward the lake. A bright white light shot up into the sky, blinding him, but he stumbled on. Someone took him by the arm and pulled him aside. Instinctively he tried to get free.

"It's me," a male voice said. "Thunderbird."

Steele recognized one of the men who had greeted him with Athena. "What .. what's going on here? Who are these men?"

"Evil sent its troops to get the book. There are so many of them we can't hold them back. We're too weak, no more powerful than a human." Suddenly Thunderbird tensed. "They've broken through! The book!"

He disappeared and Steele decided he had to follow. He ran toward the lake, which was glowing brightly, evading the attackers as best as he could. Since they were mainly focused on fighting supernaturals and getting to the book it wasn't too hard to do so.

And then he saw it. The book. It hung in the air, glowing softly. One of the hoodlums grabbed for it and began to ran directly toward Steele, clutching his prize. The dark-haired P.I. made a quick decision and the guy collided with his fist. Shaking his smarting hand he took the book and slipped it into his pocket, hiding it from sight.

"Mr. Steele," a well-known female voice said, cutting through the sound of the battle all around him.

Steele whirled around and came face to face with Mrs. Hatmore ... Hathor. She was dressed in an Egyptian piece of ... not much. Her bronze colored body was displayed in the bright light from the lake and her cat shaped eyes were triumphant. She had a body every man could only dream of and if it had been another occasion, Steele would have made an advance.

"Give me the book," she said softly.

"No."

She raised one delicate black eyebrow. "No? Why, I thought we had an agreement. I'd pay you for your services to retrieve the book and you'd return it to me."

"You never owned it."

"I never said that. Now, give me the book."

"No," he ground out between clenched teeth, moving away from her.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Steele, but then I'll have to revert back to threats. Either you give me the book or your lady friend will experience what it means to be in Anubis' hands."

A man stepped out of the bushes, and he was holding Laura. She had been bound, but she was conscious. Her wide eyes took in the scenery, then locked onto Steele.

Steele felt anger and rage built up inside of him. "How do you dare!? Release her!"

"Only in exchange for the book, Mr. Steele."

His hand touched his jacket's pocket where he had the book. If he gave the book to Hathor Evil would win. If he didn't Laura would die. Either way it was a bad choice.

"Hey, lady!" a voice suddenly called. "How about a little haircut!"

A bright stream of energy hit Hathor and she cried in pain. Another energy stream made Anubis let go of Laura. Steele jumped forward to catch her but the Jackal God was quicker. He lashed out, his sharp claws hitting Steele at the temple. He felt pain exploding behind his eyes and the ground rushed to meet him. Laura gave an exclamation of fright and he saw her roll past him on the grass.

"Puny mortal," Anubis growled and grabbed the front of Steele's jacket. He was lifted off the ground effortlessly and stared right into two red glowing eyes. The grip the Egyptian entity had on him was as painful as it was choking. "If I had my old powers you'd fall to dust in my hands!"

"Yeah, right," Steele coughed and kicked the man where it hurt the most.

Anubis howled and Steele thought with a grin that there was no difference between a god or or man..... except maybe that the gods recovered much quicker! Anubis lunged for him, his claws scraping Steele's leg, leaving deep cuts. Steele screamed in pain and tried to get away.

"Holt on, buddy, help's here!" someone called and the energy stream from seconds before made Anubis howl again.

"He's corporeal, Peter!" another voice shouted. "You can't hold him!"

"I know, Egon, but I can give him one hell of a headache!"

Steele crawled over to Laura, who was fighting against her bonds. He helped her untie herself.

"What's going on here?" she wanted to know, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. "Who are those people?"

"Later," he gasped, his mind racing to find a solution to get out of this mess alive.

"Hey, Steele!"

Steele looked up and found that the dark-haired Ghostbuster, who had been at the door, was standing beside him.

"You better get out of here pronto! These guys mean business!"

The P.I. pulled Laura to her feet and shoved her away from the lake. "Run!" he ordered.

Laura looked at the battle not far away and immediately turned to face him. "You want me to run into that brawl?"

He grimaced. Brawl.... "They'll ignore you, believe me, Laura." He gave her another push. "Please, run!"

Delia suddenly landed beside him. She looked a bit worse to wear and her arm was covered with blood. "Do you have the book?" she asked, ignoring Laura's startled gasp.

"Yes, I do, but ...."

"The gate is open for only so much longer. You have to get it there!" she ordered.

Steele, whose leg was hurting badly and who was feeling very lightheaded, stared at her. "What?"

"As you told your friend, the combatants will ignore you because you are not one of us!"

"What about Cord?" he asked.

"He won't be ignored. He is of our heritage." Delia gave him a pleading look. "Get the book into the gate!"

Steele nodded, feeling numb and completely out of his league. "Take care of Laura," he said and then ran as fast as he could to the lake. He wasn't very fast because he was unable to use one leg to one hundred percent.

"Mr. Steele!" Laura cried, but he ignored her.

One of the Ghostbusters appeared on his side. It was the dark-haired one, Venkman, as he read from the name tag. "What are you still doing here?" he demanded. "This isn't exactly a picnic!"

"Wouldn't have realized that," Steele retorted.

"Then what ..." He stopped and shot at something that reminded Steele of a vampire. The creature shrieked and fled the painful energy stream.

"The book," Steele replied cryptically. "We have to seal it away from them!"

"Who's them?"

"Later." Steele grabbed the book from his pocket, clutching it with all strength. The lake was very close and the light coming from it was blinding. He didn't exactly know what to do, but something like instinct told him. The dark-haired man inhaled deeply. The book in his hands was pulsating with the energy, the power, locked inside, giving off heat. Steele felt light-headed as he lifted his hand. Then he threw the book in the lake.

The light intensified and Steele flung up his hands to shield his eyes. From one second to the next everything went dark. Blinking into the sudden darkness he noticed that the Ghostbuster was still beside him, looking awed.

"What the ....?" he muttered.

Steele had no explanation for this. All he wanted was to sit down somewhere and rest. His legs gave way under him and he decided here was a place as good as anywhere to sit.

"Are you all right?" Venkman asked and looked him over. He discovered the cuts and cursed softy. "Egon? Winston? Ray?" he called.

"We're here," a deep bass voice answered calmly and a blond man stepped to them. He looked a bit bruised and singed, like the other two men following him, but nothing serious.

"Who's that?" the auburn-haired one asked.

"Steele, right?" Venkman asked and looked at Remington Steele.

He nodded. "Yeah, the one and only." He was so tired.

"Mr. Steele!" That was Laura. She rushed to his side, kneeling down beside him.

"Hi, Ms. Holt," he muttered.

More shapes appeared around them and Steele faintly recognized Athena, the griffin, Delia and several more. The four Ghostbusters tensed, but Athena lifted her hand.

"Please," she said softly. "It is over. We mean no harm. Evil has been defeated today." She looked at Steele. "And you need help."

He summoned a smile, feeling Laura's hand on his arm.

"Care to explain what this ILM show was all about?" Venkman asked.

"I will because I know you wouldn't rest until you knew it all." Athena smiled. "But now we have to tend to the wounded."

Steele was aware that his consciousness was fading and that Laura was holding him. It felt good. Very good. His last conscious thought was that he might get more of that treatment from her if he played sick for a while ..... Then everything went black.

 

* * *

 

The next morning -- very early morning -- came to see the Ghostbusters sit in their living room area, together with several mythical creatures. Ray was fascinated by them, Egon was taking never-ending readings, while Peter and Winston saw the whole thing much more practically. Athena had explained to them the basics of their existence and what had really gone on in the last few days. Peter couldn't say he was thrilled to hear that they had been used as a cover for Evil.

"What would have happened if the baddies had found out where the book was?" he asked.

"They would never have dared to enter your home and steal it from you. They would have sent their minions, mortals who serve them willingly."

"Oh, goody."

The one called Ptah -- husband of Hathor in Egyptian legends, as Egon had readily explained -- smiled. "Yours was the last place any of Evil's servants would ever have considered. Hathor is a clever woman, but she wouldn't think we'd dare to use you as a cover. We are as endangered by you as they are."

"Didn't look that way last night," Winston interjected.

"You did great damage to Evil's entities," Athena said. "Though we are corporeal and should have great power, we haven't. Hathor, just like Anubis and any other god," she smiled at Ptah and gestured at herself, "has lost her power because there are not enough worshippers. The few still believing in the Ancient Gods don't worship them like in the old times. We are immortal, but we can't do what we did eons ago."

"Your energy streams hurt them," the griffin added. "And we know you have conquered such paranormals like the Bogeyman; you have the power to trap us if you want."

"You don't have anything to fear from us," Ray immediately told them.

"We know." Athena gave him a gentle smile.

"What about Steele?" Winston wanted to know.

"His wounds will heal, we saw to that. He received payment for the case he was hired for already and Hathor won't dare to touch him." Ptah smiled grimly. "She is bound by the Law."

"Will he tell others about you?" Ray asked.

Athena shook her head. "No. His friend will ask questions, but she will keep her quiet. Her logical brain will start to push the events into the depths of her mind to forget, because she can't explain what happened."

Ptah nodded his agreement. "She will brainwash herself, in a way."

Egon shut down the P.K.E. meter. "This is very fascinating. I wish I could study your kind longer."

The griffin chuckled. "Sorry I can't say your wish is our command."

Egon sighed, but he understood. Athena rose from her chair and smiled at all of them.

"We have to go now. I thank you for your help in the name of Good."

"You are welcome," Ray immediately said.

Peter rubbed a bruised spot on his thigh. "But next time, come without the other half of the company, will you?"

The griffin chuckled. "We will try." Then it walked over to the open window and climbed outside. Spreading its wings it flew up into the approching dawn.

Ptah and Athena decided to leave through the door and soon the four Ghostbusters were alone again.

"Well, so much for the night," Peter yawned. "I, for one, will spend the next two days in bed. I hurt all over."

Winston clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm with you, m'man."

Egon didn't look like he'd get any sleep soon. He eyed the readings on the P.K.E. meter as if he was contemplating to trade sleep for enlightenment. Peter grabbed his arm and gave him a mock stern look.

"No, no, no, Egon. We won't work now. We will go to bed. Be a good boy and don't put up a fight, will ya?"

Egon wanted to protest, but a yawn smothered all he wanted to say. "Maybe that really is a good idea," he finally managed.

About half an hour later the firehouse was silent, the silence only disturbed by the soft snoring of the four men.

 

* * *

 

Remington Steele rubbed his slightly aching leg and then leaned back in the stuffed chair of the hotel room. It was close to five in the morning and he was still unable to sleep. The action of the last few hours and the blood loss should have made him sleepy, but his adrenaline level was still too high for event he thought of getting rest. He had woken from unconsciousness a few minutes after his blackout, finding most of the mythical entities gone, Laura still at his side, and the Ghostbusters talking to the remaining few supernaturals. Laura had not asked many questions, simply accompanied him silently to the hotel after one of the supernaturals had taken care of the injury. Steele wasn't sure what he had done, but the pain was mostly gone, though the wound remained and might bother him for a few more days.

Laura.

That thought made him look over to the door connecting their rooms. To his surprise he found it open and Laura leaning against the frame. She had changed her clothes, wearing her pajama and a bathrobe from the hotel. What had the supernaturals told him? She would forget about what had happened in time, push the events back until she no longer felt frightened by what she had seen.

"Hi," he said softly.

She smiled and came over, sitting down on the edge of the bed close to him. "How do you feel?"

Steele decided that her voice was too calm. She was still trying to cope with what had happened, and that wasn't easy. Accepting the supernaturals as what they were was hard, even for a believer like him.

"Tired, but unable to sleep," he said truthfully.

She nodded. "Same here. My I ask you something, Mr. Steele?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"How long did you know?"

He was silent for a minute. He had seen the ghost when she hadn't, and he had seen Cord's reaction to the lie with the book. When had he really found out that something supernatural was going on?

"I guess I suspected something was wrong when .... when Cord lied about the book. It was a hunch and it turned out to be right." No reason he should tell her about the ghost. Supernaturals were bad enough. "I followed him and then he confronted me with the supernaturals."

She looked at him for a long, long time. Finally she asked, "Would you have told me about them if I hadn't been so directly involved?"

"No," he answered truthfully.

Laura looked stunned. "No? Why?"

"Because," he said and rose from the chair, walking stiffly over to the bed and sitting down beside her, "you are thinking too much with  
reason and logic to believe in something like that. I'd have made a fool out of myself." He laid an arm around her shoulders.

Laura leaned against him, seeking comfort. "You always do, so this would have been no exception," she murmured sleepily.

Steele kissed the top of her head and smiled. "Thank you, Ms Holt."

A real smile crossed her lips and she snuggled closer. "You're welcome, Mr. Steele." There was a short time of silence, then she asked, "Will they come back?"

He shook his head. "No. We helped them, they helped us. It's over." He leaned over and

kissed her passionately onto the lips. "It's only the two of us," he whispered as they parted.

Laura responded with another kiss and both sank down onto the bed. Steele wondered dimly if he wasn't taking advantage of her confusion, but that thought died a quick death as the woman he loved embraced him, returning his passion just as he did.

Outside the sun was rising. On the balcony of their room sat a lonely guardian. Delia had her wings stretched protectively, and there was a smile on her lips; a smile of satisfaction. She glanced back over her shoulder, sneaking a last look of the couple in the room, then turned to face the sun.

As the rays of first morning light touched her she turned to stone, following the legend the humans had written for gargoyle kind.


End file.
